Crossroads
by Sorariem
Summary: Skyrim is locked into a civil war and the empire of Tamriel is on edge. Amidst the conflict, the dragons, long lost to the passages of the Elder Scrolls, have returned to Tamriel. The future of the world hangs in the balance and only the Dragonborn; a hero born with the power of The Voice, is the only one who can stand amongst the dragons, but this hero cannot do it alone.
1. I: Tyrian

_**I do not own The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim or any of the characters except for my own. Perspectives may change from third to first person. Ratings might switch to M.**_

_**Note: There are multiple OCs in this story (so romance is a possibility).**_

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Skyrim is locked into a civil war and the empire of Tamriel is on edge. Amidst the conflict, the dragons, long lost to the passages of the Elder Scrolls, have returned to Tamriel. The future of the world hangs in the balance and only the Dragonborn; a hero born with the power of The Voice, is the only one who can stand amongst the dragons, but this hero cannot do it alone. Tyrian Blackstorm, a Nord born before the civil war denies his fate as Dragonborn, but with the many allies he encounters on his journey, his view on his destiny changes and he's more than willing to sacrifice his life for the people of Tamriel.

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_"All for one and one for all. United we stand, divided we fall."_

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_**Chapter I**_

It was the worst and the best of times. It was everything but inviting. Getting knocked out and thrown into a carriage, but at least it was better than walking.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." It was a middle-aged Nord with blond hair and a medium stubble. Like himself, he was also bound by ropes.

The messy-faced Nord to his left glowered at the blond, shaking his head in frustration. "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." His gaze shifted to the Nord across from him. "You there. You and me - we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." The blond nearly scoffed. "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

The Imperial soldier riding the horse ordered from the front, "Shut up back there!" A few seconds of silence and the horse thief opened his mouth again, this time directing his attention to the gagged man on his left. "And what's wrong with him?"

The blond Nord snapped his head at him, his eyebrows furrowed in disturbance. "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

It was surprising how the thief did not recognize _the _Ulfric Stormcloak. Even though he hadn't been to Windhelm in years, he still able to recognize the face of the Jarl of Windhelm.

The thief peered at him closely. "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?" The other Nord stared at his bound hands. "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening..." The fear in his voice was obvious. The way his hands were beginning to shake was enough for all of them to know how much of a coward he was.

"Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?" The blond asked, turning his head to look at him.

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home..."

The thief lowered his head. "Rorikstead. I'm...I'm from Rorikstead."

The rays of the Sun were growing stronger as the trees began to vanish from their eyes as the group approached the village of Helgen. An Imperial soldier calls out to the lead wagon, "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!"

"Good. Let's get this over with," the General mutters as the horses tread deeper into Helgen.

The thief closed his eyes, his bound hands shivering again. "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me."

The blond Nord watched the Imperials at the lead wagon. "Look at him, General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

He felt like time was moving slower than before. It was likely all four of them were going to face death very soon. Deep inside he was hoping for a miracle to happen even if the chances were slim to none.

"This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny...when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe," the Nord mumbled, his eyes cased with bitterness and melancholy.

A child from one of the houses watched as the carriages made their way to their destination. "Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?" The father of the child grabbed his child by the shoulder, attempting to lead him away from the sight. "You need to go inside, little cub."

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers."

"Inside the house. Now."

The wagons all stopped near the chopping blocks. "Whoa!" The Imperial stopped his horse. The tension in the air was getting thicker and the dread that filled the atmosphere was tense.

"Why are they stopping?" The thief's eyes were clear with panic.

The blond responded; his words indifferent. "Why do you think? End of the line. Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

"No! Wait! We're not rebels!"

"Face your death with some courage, thief."

Under the Imperials' watchful eye, the prisoners start jumping out one by one.

The thief was struggling now, his steps unwilling. "You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

The Imperial Captain stood before the prisoners; her arms crossed in authority. "Step toward the block when we call your name. One at a time!"

The blond Nord grumbled, "Empire loves their damn lists."

The Imperial soldier beside the Captain started with the first person on the list. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm."

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!" The Nord bowed his head as he watched his leader step in the line to the chopping block.

"Ralof of Riverwood. Lokir of Rorikstead."

Ralof, the blond was about to head to the line, but the thief stumbled forward, pleading. "No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" Lokir makes a break for it, running past the Captain, thinking he could escape from the hands of the Legion.

"Halt!"

"You're not going to kill me!"

The Captain raised her hand, "Archers!"

The cowardly thief was downed by a single shot of an arrow, his body lying limp on the trail. "Anyone else feel like running?" None of the prisoners uttered a word.

The Imperial with the list stared at the last prisoner with confusion. "Wait, you there. Step forward. Who are you?"

The prisoner hesitates, looking around him before saying his name. "Tyrian. Tyrian Blackstorm."

"You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman," the Imperial replied as his eyes scanned the list once more. "Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list."

"Forget the list. He goes to the block."

"By your orders, captain..." The Imperial frowned and glanced at Tyrian one last time. "I'm sorry. At least you'll die here, in your homeland..."

Tyrian said nothing, knowing well he didn't have much to say in the first place. "Follow the Captain, prisoner." He goes to stand with the other waiting prisoners by the block, staring at him with blank expressions.

All eyes quickly shifted to the General who was stopped in front of the Jarl of Windhelm. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." Ulfric attempts to protest, his words muffled by the muzzle around his mouth.

"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."

Tyrian was about to retort, but a distant noise echoed from the far mountainside stopped him.

"What was that?" The same Imperial with the list questioned, his voice filled with anxiety.

The General waved a hand, his eyes still glued to Ulfric. "It's nothing. Carry on."

The Imperial Captain nodded her head. "Yes, General Tullius," she gestured to the priestess. "Give them their last rites."

The Priestess of Arkay spread her hands in the air. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved-"

One of the prisoners walk to the block, his face scrunched in annoyance. "For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!" The Priestess stops, "As you wish..."

The Stormcloak soldier kneels and lays his head against the block, waiting for his life to end. "Come on, I haven't got all morning," he stares at the executioner, "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" The light in his eyes flashed by as he was beheaded, eliciting responses from the onlookers. Anger filled Tyrian's veins. Even though the soldier didn't care about dying, he still felt like he deserved to live longer instead of dying in the hands of the ruthless Imperial Legion.

"You Imperial bastards!"

"Justice!"

"Death to the Stormcloaks!"

Ralof whispered beside Tyrian, his voice etched with various emotions, "As fearless in death as he was in life..."

The Captain called for the following person, "Next, the Nord in the rags!" Tyrian knew she was referring to him. For some reason, he didn't feel anything. Was he supposed to be angry? Upset? Happy? In the middle of his thoughts, the voice from the mountains rings out again, this time much closer.

"There it is again. Did you hear that?"

The Captain ignored it. "I said, next prisoner!"

The Imperial with the list gazed at him carefully. "To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."

Tyrian drags himself to the chopping block and was forced to kneel. _This is it isn't it? I'm going to die here... _Just as the executioner raised his axe to behead him, a large creature suddenly swoops over the southern peaks, barreling toward Helgen. And that's when chaos erupted.

General Tullius gawked at the creature in horror. "What in Oblivion is that?!"

The Captain watched the winged beast fly closer to them, "Sentries! What do you see?"

"It's in the clouds!"

The creature lands on a tower, surprising everyone with its daunting presence. At this moment, as Tyrian watched this scene play before him, he knew exactly what it was. The noise from the mountains was what he had always presumed. After all these years, he believed them to be tales from children's stories and logs from history. And here it was. Perched on the tower with his mighty claws and wings of black and its unblinking orbs, the color of blood eyeing what stood below him.

"DRAGON!"

Forthwith, the Dragon opened his mouth, his voice shaking the crowd and killing the executioner.

Tullius began to yell, drawing out his bow. "Don't just stand there, kill that thing! Guards, get the townspeople to safety!"

It was all happening so fast that Tyrian forgot that he was supposed to be beheaded. He opened his eyes, still blurry from the power of the Dragon's voice. Eventually, a familiar voice called to him, grabbing him by the shoulder. "Hey, kinsman! Get up! Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!" It was Ralof. "This way!" He leads Tyrian to a tower where the other prisoners were hiding. To his surprise, the Jarl was already there. "Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?" Ulfric clenched his teeth, no longer gagged, "Legends don't burn down villages. We need to move, now!"

Ralof pushed Tyrian towards the stairs. "Up through the tower. Let's go! This way, friend! Move!" A Stormcloak soldier cried out, "We just need to move some of these rocks to clear the way!" Just as Tyrian raced up the staircase, the dragon breaks in through the walls and pulls his head back.

"Get back!" Ralof shouts.

The Dragon opens his mouth and Tyrian backs away, nearly falling down the stairs. "—_Toor Shul_!" The winged beast flies off the tower and the rest of the soldiers inspected the damage left behind. Ralof leans beside the wall and stares out at the opening from the wall. "See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going! Go! We'll follow you when we can!"

The prisoner proceeds alone, jumping on the roof of the inn and making it to the ground again, only to encounter the list-giver with some refugees.

"Haming, you need to get over here now! Thataboy. You're doing great! Torolf! Gods... Everyone get back!"

A stream of fire plows in their direction, and thankfully they narrowly evaded the Dragon's flames.

The list-giver glances at Tyrian. "Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense."

"Gods guide you, Hadvar."

"Stay close to the wall!" He calls out as they take cover from another burst of fire. "Quickly, follow me!" The Dragon watches the prisoner and Hadvar with his red eyes and flies off again, still attacking the living remains of the village.

The two reach the main gate's carnage. Imperial soldiers were fire arrows at their flying target. Tullius shot an arrow and quickly switched his attention to the list-giver. "Hadvar! Into the keep, soldier, we're leaving!"

"It's you and me, prisoner, stay close!" Hadvar proceeds to take the lead. As they neared the keep, they run into the blond Nord again. "Ralof! You damned traitor, out of my way!"

"We're escaping, Hadvar! You're not stopping us this time." Tyrian makes his way to Ralof's side as Hadvar glared at both of them. "Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!"

"Tyrian, come on! Into the keep!"

Upon entering, Ralof goes to check on the body of a fallen Stormcloak, closing his eyes. "We'll meet again in Sovngarde, brother..." He stands up and examines his surroundings. "Looks like we're the only ones who made it. That thing was a dragon. No doubt. Just like the children's stories and the legends. The harbingers of the End Times. We better get moving. Come here, let me see if I can get those bindings off. There you go. May as well take Gunjar's gear... He won't be needing it anymore. Alright, get that armor on and give that axe a few swings. I'm going to see if I can find some way out of here..." He approaches a gate. "This one's locked. Let's see about that gate." He checks the other. "Damn. No way to open this from our side."

From the other side of the gate, they heard the voice of the Imperial Captain. "Come on, soldier! Keep moving!"

Both Nords pull off to the side. "It's the Imperials! Take cover!"

"Get this gate open."

As soon as the gate opened, Tyrian raised his axe and stuck in the Captain's side. "Imperial dogs!" Ralof howled as he attacked the other Imperial.

It wasn't much of a fight since they both finished them off quite easily, hardly getting a scratch.

"Maybe one of these Imperials had the key..." Ralof searches the Captain's body. "Let's see here... Here we are, found a key. Let's see if it opens that door. That's it! Come on, let's get out of here before the dragon brings the whole tower down on our heads."

As they descend the stairs, the ceiling collapses, nearly trapping both men. "Look out! Damn, that dragon doesn't give up easy..."

Tyrian opens the next door, carefully swinging it open only to see two Imperials inside.

"Grab everything important and let's move! The dragon is burning everything to the ground!"

"Just need to gather some more potions."

Ralof charged at them before Tyrian could even say anything. _I was hoping to do a stealthier approach, but whatever... _He joined his fellow Nord, killing both Imperials with ease. Ralof sheathed his weapon and scanned the room. "A storeroom. See if you can find any potions. We'll need them."

"Right." Tyrian dives into the barrels, gathering all he could.

"Done? Let's get moving."

The duo hurried downstairs where the rest of the Stormcloaks were fighting. "Troll's blood! It's a torture room. Hear that?" Ralof strikes at one of the torturers, bashing him with the butt of his blade. Tyrian joined in shortly, snagging one of the fallen soldier's weapons of the ground and hauling it the last Imperial like a throwing knife. Unfortunately, a few of their fellow Nords died.

"Is Jarl Ulfric with you?" Ralof asked one of the living Stormcloaks.

"No, I haven't seen him since the dragon showed up," the soldier replied.

He sighed and turned to the cages where torture victims were usually held in. "Wait a second. Looks like there's something in this cage. It's locked. See if you can get it open with some picks. We might need that gold once we get out. Grab anything useful and let's go."

Tyrian was already quick to work on the first lock where a dead mage was inside. He grabbed the gold and looted the body. He contemplated whether he should snag the tome as well. _I'm not a mage, but what the heck. It'll probably sell for a decent amount of gold. _After grabbing all he could, the small group worked their way downstairs where more Imperials were present.

"The orders are to wait until General Tullius arrives."

"I'm not waiting to be killed by a dragon!"

Ralof, like always, goes into battle first. Unlike the other fights they had, this one was a bit harder. There were a lot more Imperials to deal with and the archers at back were more than annoying. After finishing off the last of them, they cross the bridge. "Let's go on ahead. See if the way is clear. Let's see where this goes."

The duo follows a stream to a dead end. "Hmm, that doesn't go anywhere. I guess we'd better try this way."

"I'll go first since you seem to ruin my stealthy advances..." Tyrian muttered, earning a scoff from Ralof.

He entered slowly, drawing his bow and aiming it at a giant spider whose back was facing in his direction. Carefully, placing the arrow in its place and pulling the string, he let go. The arrow flew across the cave and struck the spider right in the torso. A few more frostbites appeared, and Tyrian shot them down with ease. Just when he thought it was over, two giant frostbite spiders landed on the ground and crawled briskly towards Tyrian. Ralof was out again before Tyrian could notch another arrow. It took a few hits, knowing how fragile they were despite being abnormally large.

Ralof breathed heavily, a look of disgust etched on his face. "I hate those damn things. Too many eyes, you know?"

"I've seen worse..." Tyrian replied, laughing a little.

The two Nords declined deeper into the cave. They stopped when they came across a sleeping bear. "Hold up. There's a bear just ahead. See her? I'd rather not tangle with her right now. Let's try to sneak by. Just take it nice and slow and watch where you step. Or if you're feeling lucky, you can use your bow. Might take her by surprise. Go ahead. I'll follow your lead and watch your back."

"I'll poison my arrow first just in case my first shot isn't enough." Tyrian painted the tip of his arrow with the venom of one of the frostbites he killed. Notching his arrow, he targeted the head of the bear. _Just like target practice... _He let go and the ripped through the arrow, piercing the bear in the head, killing her instantly.

"Nice shot, kinsman." Ralof patted his back, giving him a thumbs up. "Alright. Let's keep going."

The pair hurried forward, eventually reaching the exit. "That looks like the way out! I knew we'd make it!" Tyrian sighed with relief. "Great. I was tired of all this running..."

Just as they got out of the cave, the sound of a roar echoed in the skies. "Wait!" The Dragon loomed overhead, flying away from their sight again. "There he goes. Looks like he's gone for good this time. No way to know if anyone else made it out alive. But this place is going to be swarming with Imperials soon enough. We'd better clear out of here. My sister Gerdur runs the mill in Riverwood, just up the road. I'm sure she'd help you out. It's probably best if we split up," Ralof shakes Tyrian's hand. "Good luck. I wouldn't have made it without your help today. You know, you should go to Windhelm and join the fight to free Skyrim. You've seen the true face of the Empire here today. If anyone will know what the coming of the dragon means, it's Ulfric."

"Right. I'll keep that in mind..." Tyrian nodded and ran ahead, Ralof watching him go.

_The coming of the Dragons, huh? So, they were never fairytales to begin with. I'll have to hurry to Riverwood and make my way back to Windhelm. Surely, Jarl Ulfric is still alive._

_But what would he know about the Dragons...?_

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_**I cannot write long chapters for the life of me :( This is my first Skyrim fanfiction so it's not much. Hopefully, I can do well with the upcoming chapters! I wrote this when I was around 13, but never got around to publishing this :P**_

_**On another note, character perspectives will be changing, so it's not just Tyrian's POV.**_

_**Favorite, Follow, or Review! I'll take any kind of criticism.**_

_**See you next chapter!**_


	2. II: Lledran

_**I do not own The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim or any of the characters except for my own. Perspectives may change from third to first person. Ratings might switch to M.**_

_**Note: There are multiple OCs in this story (so romance is a possibility).**_

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Skyrim is locked into a civil war, and the empire of Tamriel is on edge with the coming of the dragons. Amidst the conflict, a reclusive Dunmer assassin, Lledran Servos, operates in the shadows. He cares not for the civil strife but instead feeds on it to keep surviving. However, he forgets the importance of working with others and takes his situation for granted.

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"_The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time."_

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_**Chapter II**_

Through many means, usually overhearing, one can learn that Aventus Aretino, a boy in Windhelm, is doing the Black Sacrament to contact the Brotherhood. And for sure, one cunning assassin got his hands on such information.

Lledran quietly stepped inside the house. It was nearly empty, almost as if someone just abandoned it and didn't even bother to bring the rest of their stuff with them. He crept his way up the second floor, and there he saw a boy surrounded by bloody remains, reciting the famous mantra:

"Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear."

The dunmer decided to casually walk over, gracing the young boy with his eerie presence. The child turned around to see the tall figure standing over him, arms crossed and eyes filled with mischief.

"You've come at last! I knew you would!" Lledran wanted to laugh, but he had to keep up this serious killer demeanor if he wanted to let this kid know that he was business. "Are you all right?" The assassin asked.

"It worked! I knew you'd come, I just knew it! I did the Black Sacrament, over and over! With the body, and the...things. And then you came! An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood!"

He smirked. This kid actually believed in this shit? He was only here because word spread around town. He opened his mouth to reply calmly, "Yes, of course… The Black Sacrament…" He had to play along somehow, or else it wouldn't be fun at all!

The child sighed. "It took so long. So very long. But now that you're here, you can accept my contract."

"Contract?" Oh, now this was going to be good.

"My mother, she...she died. I...I'm all alone now. So they sent me to that terrible orphanage in Riften. Honorhall. The headmistress is an evil, cruel woman. They call her Grelod the Kind. But he's not kind. She's terrible. To all of us. So I ran away and came home. And performed the Black Sacrament. Now you're here!" The boy raised his fist. "And you can kill Grelod the Kind!"

_Grelod? That old hag? You've gotta be kidding me._

"Grelod? As it turns out...I already killed her." Lledran chuckled. He wanted to laugh even more, but his giggles could wait for something even better.

"You did? Really?" Aventus danced with joy. "This is the best news I've ever gotten! I mean, I knew the Dark Brotherhood was good...just not that good! You killed the old hag before I even asked! Oh, and please, take this as payment. It's an old family heirloom, supposed to be pretty valuable. It should fetch you a nice price. Thank you again!"

Lledran examined the heirloom. He furrowed his eyebrows when he realized what it was. "A _plate?_ This is your heirloom? Hilarious." He threw it to the side, the object shattering on impact. "I needn't warn you… I recommend you don't give this crap as payment to an _assassin_. Got that?"

Aventus stared at him with a frightened expression on his face. "I-I'm sorry. It won't happen again! I'll have something better for the next guy!"

Lledran's hands brushed against the daggers sealed away in his pockets. "_If _there's a next time…"

By Azura, he hated children.

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Wiping the blood off his daggers and sheathing them, the dunmer decided it was time for a quick nap. He had been traveling for some time without stopping, and his legs were aching from all the running and walking. He looked up at the clouded sky. It was still snowing…

Lledran hated Windhelm. He hated every single bastard Nord that walked past him with a stink eye whenever he was here. He wondered why he even came here in the first place? Just for that dumb rumor? The dark elf sighed. He didn't plan on staying in an inn filled with racist Nords.

_I'll just sleep near the stables. No one will care to notice._

He made a short trek to the Windhelm stables. All the horses minded their own business, and the owner of the stables seemed to be inside his cabin.

"Damn, it's cold." He hurried his way inside one of the stables and threw himself onto the closest pile of hay he could find. The dunmer laid there, unmoving, and stared at the snowy sky. He sort of missed Morrowind. _Sort of._ Memories of his younger self back in his homeland flashed through his eyes, and he shook his head. "I really need some sleep…"

He let the snow sing him to sleep.

* * *

Lledran opened his eyes, quickly realizing that he was no longer in the stables. He threw himself up and looked around the room, only to see a female assassin sitting atop a shelf, watching him intently.

"Sleep well?" The woman asked mockingly.

Instinctively, he reached for his daggers, but they were no longer there. "What? Where am I? Who are you?"

"Does it matter?" She eyed him up and down. "You're warm, dry...and still very much alive. That's more than can be said for old Grelod. Hmm?" The dark elf furrowed his eyebrows. "You know about this?"

"Half of Skyrim knows. Old hag gets butchered in her own orphanage? Things like that tend to get around." Lledran clenched his fists. "Oh, but don't misunderstand. I'm not criticizing. It was a good kill. Old crone had it coming. And you saved a group of urchins, to boot. Ah, but there is a slight...problem."

"A problem?"

"You see, that little Aretino boy was looking for the Dark Brotherhood. For me and my associates. Grelod the Kind was, by all rights, a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill...that you stole. A kill you must repay."

"_S'wit. _You actually think I'm gonna repay you for something as small as that?" He spits. "What? You want me to murder someone else? Who?"

"Well, now. Funny, you should ask. If you turn around, you'll notice my guests. I've "collected" them from...well, that's not really important. The here and now. That's what matters. You see, there's a contract out on one of them, and that person can't leave this room alive. But… which one? Go on, see if you can figure it out." She tossed him a dagger, a dagger that belonged to him. "Make your choice. Make your kill. I just want to observe...and admire."

He glowered at the woman and turned around, seeing three bound individuals. They were calling for help, one of them even cursing at him. He had second thoughts. He could just do this and get it over with, and maybe the woman will finally leave him alone.

"All right, I'll do it. I'll kill one of them."

The woman in black and red chuckled. "See, I knew we could resolve this civilly. A debt owed must be repaid. You understand that. Well, get to it then. Pick your guest and send the poor fool to the Void. I'll give you the key to this shack, and you'll be on your way."

Lledran turned back around and approached one of them; the khajiit. "Whoever this is, clearly we got off on the wrong foot. Ah, but no worries. This is not the first time I have been bagged and dragged. Come now. Whatever the problem, we can talk about it like civilized folk, hmm?"

He pointed the dagger at him. "Who in Oblivion are you?"

"Ahhh...Vasha, at your service. Obtainer of goods, taker of lives, and defiler of daughters. Have people carve my name into your corpse, as a reminder."

"Disgusting."

The khajiit started snickering. "Tell you what. You release me, and I promise my associates won't hunt you down like an animal and butcher you in the street. It is a win —"

Lledran sliced his head off with one fell swoop. The noise of a head rolling on the floor echoed through the cabin. He proceeded to the next victim, a woman from the looks of it.

"Get these things off me! Cowards! Stealing a woman from her home! For shame!"

"Shut up." He slammed his foot into her midsection, causing her to cough loudly. "Would someone pay to have you killed?"

"Excuse me? What kind of question is that?" She yelled at him, ignoring the swelling pain in her stomach.

"One last time, woman: Would. Someone. Pay. To. Have. You. Killed?"

"I'm kneeling here with my hands bound and a sack over my head, and you have the gall to ask me that? What do you think, genius?"

He pressed his blade against her covered face. "Watch your tongue, or you won't have one left."

She didn't stop. "I don't have time for this nonsense. I've got a home to keep and children to feed. Now let me out of here!"

"Alright. I guess I'll silence you for good." Grabbing her by the collar of her dress, he removed the sack on her head, grabbed her face, and ran his dagger through her mouth, cutting away at her tongue. She was bleeding profusely, and Lledran swore he heard a laugh come from the woman on the shelf. It made him want to laugh too, but he was still mad that he got kidnapped and thrown into a cabin in the middle of nowhere.

He looked at the last person who was visibly shaken.

"I...I can hear you talking out there. Please, let me go. I've done nothing to you. Is this about that raid last week? I told Holgrim there was no honor in killing sleeping men, but he wouldn't listen! It wasn't my fault, I swear!"

The dunmer simply stared at him, waiting to see if he would run his pitiful mouth again.

"What did I do? Please, whatever it is, I'm sorry."

"You're no better than me then." He laughed hysterically. "Actually, I'm way better." He rammed his blade into the man's stomach and twisted it slowly, a painful, horrid scream coming out of him. Lledran pulled out and watched him squirm on the floor, bleeding to death.

"Well, well, aren't we the overachiever? Three possibilities, three victims. Must have been one of them, right? So why take chances…" The female assassin twirled a strand of her hair with her finger.

"You told me to kill, and I killed. What more do you want?"

She clapped her hands. "Indeed. For you, my friend, seem to understand what's truly important. When I give an order to spill blood, you follow it. No questions. No remorse."

He wiped the blood off his dagger. "So...I'm free to go?"

"Of course. And you've repaid your debt, in full. Here's the key to the shack." She tossed it to him. "But why stop here? I say we take our relationship to the next level. I would like to officially extend to you an invitation to join my Family. The Dark Brotherhood. In the southwest region of Skyrim, in the Pine Forest, you'll find the entrance to our Sanctuary. It's just beneath the road, hidden from view. When questioned by the Black Door, answer with the correct passphrase: 'Silence, my brother.' Then you're in. And your new life begins. I'll see you at home."

Without saying a word, he stormed out of there.

Stepping outside into the murking rain, he closed his eyes, letting the woman's words sink in like a needle. "The Dark Brotherhood? I thought I was done with them. Looks like I've got another score to settle, but this time…" He looked back at the abandoned shack.

"It's here."


End file.
